Lifestyle Adjustments
by Raynidreams
Summary: He is playing fire and Sam's saftey. Dean needs to lean to live with being a brother, a vampire and a hunter. Sequel to For Life.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Lifestyle Adjustments

Rating: R

Summary: Sequel to For Life. Dean's going to have to learn to live as a vampire. He's also got to save his little brother from the evil stalking their every shadow...

_A/N 2011 – Some of my other SPN stories have had their page breaks messed up in the last three years. As I've updated this, they should be fixed in this, however this has not been edited so forgive any old errors still in place._

* * *

Dean turned fitfully in bed. It was all wrong. The covers were too thick, the bedsprings too hard and the sounds of screwing from the next room along had that muscle twitching irritated in his jaw. It would have been fair enough if he'd have been making the noises, but no. It was some old dude with an even older lady. Nice.

Glancing at the digital readout on the clock, he found it to be 3.30pm. Thankfully it was just about getting-up time, especially as the noises from next-door had reached fervour pitch.

"Go on Henry. Do it harder and faster, cuz I need to get dressed anyhow."

Flipping onto his back, Dean put weary legs to the floor. He rubbed his bed hair with a flat palm, and then yawning with half-closed heavy lids, he pushed up and padded over the the mini bathroom.

"Praise be for considerate little brothers," he grunted.

Sam had laid out his wash things and clean, surprisingly large soft towels with a note reading: _I'm over at the café when you're done. I cleared up the mess. No true harm done I hope? S._

Dean scrunched up the note and flung it in the bin before pulling off his boxers and Tshirt.

The shower was hot and warm against tired muscles and newly healed skin. The fight from the night before had almost killed him once again. The corners of his slick smile peaked at how jeopardy friendly he'd become since the demon deal. It was just a damned good job that his new vampire blood was keeping him from being collected just that little bit earlier.

The steam from his shower pooled around the bathroom hiding its grimmer aspects. A thought occurred to Winchester that perhaps that's what the cover of night did for him. The tip of one tiny fang pressed against his lower lip, tingling from the thought of the previous night. His was getting better at this sport. Smoother and slicker, the game he played in the bars along the routes Sam and he travelled was almost perfect now. Years of honing his magic in human form had the initial flirting down to the flash of a grin or the narrowing of his eyes. It then coursed off in to some outrageous flattery, galvanized with barefaced lies. It wasn't too often that the young woman the focus of this attention left the bar with someone else. Since being turned by Kate he had, after an initial bid for suicide and with a lot of coaxing from his brother, come bouncing back. He was stronger now, with keener senses. On a good day, he could almost smell any nasty before it came at them and hear the beginnings of a spirit swirl into ghostly apparition before they'd even completely formed. There was so much power at his finger tips now. It was glorifying, terrifying and for anyone else, it would have most likely torn the human inside asunder. Fortunately for the world, Dean was a stubborn son of a bitch and so far he'd managed to fight the blood-lust which stirred virtually all the time within his dead body. This obstinacy, and the knowledge that his vampire self helped him protect his little brother just that bit better during a fight, were the only reasons he hadn't lain down in front of a freight train before now.

In the last few weeks they had either travelled by day and fought by night. Or, on the rare occasions where the job allowed them a few days off, he'd slept the hottest part of the day away to be ready to prowl come nightfall. It was at these times that his looks and magnetism came in handy. He'd slip away in the wee-hours when exhaustion finally hit Sam, and as Sam's long hair hit his pillow and his eyes closed, Dean would leave. It was a game between the two. Sam would pretend that he didn't know where his brother went, and Dean would pretend that his brother was asleep when he did. Sam seemed to fear it would be Dean's undoing for him to openly acknowledge why Dean slunk away each night. The younger man always made sure that he kept his eyes closed when Dean returned quietly at dawn, with rosier cheeks and redder lips: his eyes having lost that cold dead stare.

Last night hadn't gone quite as planned though. Dean had left as usual. Hit the nearest biker bar as usual. Ordered a beer and one for the cute brunette in the corner. Sat down with her, complemented her and listened to her story. Told her a few untruths about his own sad tale and they'd left together. Behind the back of the bar with the neon lights flashing crudely down on the piss laden puddles at their feet, he'd kissed her glittered lips. Ran his tongue across her pink pulsating throat and carefully bit through the first layer of skin. It'd released a tiny stream of blood. She'd hissed in pain at the bite so he swiftly brought his bruising but passionate kiss back up to her mouth, swallowing that expelling of air. Running a hand up her thigh, he nudged her knickers aside and brushed his hand against the soft wet hair underneath. Her gasp of pain deepened into a mewl just as instinctive but much more animal. She'd pressed her body harder into his, winding a hand up to the back of his head to pull him down. He'd obliged, but also exchanged the movement by winding a finger up. The woman lost herself in the rocking of his hand. She'd begged Dean to finish it properly but he'd replied, 'Ladies first'. She'd jerked hard in his hand, and as she did so, he bent and sank his fangs just that tiny bit deeper into her neck. For a few blissful moments, she was spent and he could taste her pleasure in the blood.

No _When Harry Met Sally_, moments there. He was so good at this now. Bite just deep enough. Take the right amount. Lick the wounds closed. The women would wake up safe and sound at home (courtesy of him rifling through their purses and a ride in the Impala) to believe they'd drunk that little bit to much; not been that slutty as the guy had given first before they'd collapsed drunk in his arms. He'd obviously just gallantly driven them home and covered them with a blanket to boot. The odd neck bruise had (in most cases) gone un-remarked as a hicky or a cut from their inebriated fall.

That was how it should have played out last night. For the first time since Dean had got good at this, the woman's boyfriend had shown up. He'd smashed Dean in the side of the head and sent him spinning into the wall. Fangs out from feeding, the woman and his attacker had screamed when Dean came up. Seconds later, drawn by their cries and Dean's own roar of frustration, a swarm of bikers had surrounded him. Knives drawn, with chains and knuckle dusters out, Dean feared he'd have to kill them all to stop the lynching.

He'd panicked, hit out at one, and shoulder barged through the rest. It took all of his strength to free himself but he'd got through without killing anyone. Blood poring from a kidney stab to the back and face torn from hitting the wall, Dean fled to the Impala and into the night, pursued by the rumbling burn of Harleys' and even a classic BSA. It took him till well past dawn to loose the tail, and well into the morning to finally feel safe enough to return to the motel and Sam.

Thinking of his brother made a horrible shiver run through his body, automatically tightening stomach muscles in an attempt to keep it at bay. He'd felt totally home, storming in through that crappy door into an even shittier room, for he'd seen the brief shut of Sam's eyes in prayer and heard the slow release of his brother's relieved breath. Mere moments later, his little, taller brother had closed the distance between them and sheltered Dean with concern and medical tape. Dean was the only one to know how much his mouth watered at the heat and smell of Sam's blood. His taut stomach had been denied it's total feed and no one's blood had ever tasted the way Sam's did. Dean didn't like to wonder at the reason, but he suspected it related to either Sam's natural grace, his psychic power or perhaps because Sam had offered it up knowingly and with understanding. Other humans unwittingly provided Dean absolution from the hunger, but Sam given it, and not only to save his own life, but also Dean's too. No stolen blood could ever communicate the level of brotherly care and past companionship and because of this, others' paled in comparison.

Dean hated himself for the supernatural animal that Kate had made him, and especially when he'd latched onto his brother just like every other dark creature they'd ever hunted. Except for in his darkest nightmares and when he was starving, Dean was pretty good at ignoring the memory of the fire of Sam's blood. Guilt dogged the young hunter at these times and in his weakness, it was this taste that haunted Dean now.

Dean's shower ended abruptly when without warning, the warm water switched to freezing. He jumped from the chipped fibreglass shower stall with a curse, slipped and came down hard on his elbow, bringing tears to his eyes. "Fuck!"

On top of all the pains he'd received the night before, this was one too many. It vibrated up the bone and oddly seemed to join in with some previously unregistered pain at the back of his head.

"Shit!"

Grabbing his clean boxers from off the counter with one hand, he tugged them over wet skin while cuddling the other poorly treated limb to his chest. Reaching blindly for the door handle, and then yanking it hard, it slipped back and bounced off his forehead.

'Argh!"

Slick Dean.

Winchester lost the ability to draw back on the usual 'screw you' in reserve, and descended into cartoon grumbles as he headed back into the bedroom.

It was going to be one of those days...

* * *

_A/N Okay, so not much of a starter. I just wanted to re-cap on how Dean was starting to cope. Can't have him drinking cows blood now can I? It is so un-cool, and besides I'm a veggi type person: Cows = Safe, People = Cannon Fodder._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N - All of this is AU post AHBLpt2._

Life Style Adjustments 2

* * *

For the last hour the two men had talked hunting while enjoying the free caffeine refills. Despite the warmth of their talk, neither of them could deny that there was an overlying tension to their meeting. It remained unspoken while the sun shone high in the sky but as it began to dip behind the horizon, their conversation started to lapse into periods of silence broken only by the chatter of the other diners. It was during these silences that they inwardly came back to the real purpose of them being sat here in this run down café in a dying town. After one particularly long spell Bobby stretched, pulled his cap back, scratched and asked, "How do you think he's going to react?" His dark eyes met the man's sitting opposite, clearly saying that they'd skirted the inevitable for long enough.

Sam sighed and leaned away from his friend, his hazel gaze turning from Bobby to follow the passage of a fly. The fly butted against the dusty window. Sam paused while watching it repeatedly trying to free itself from the invisible prison of the glass. The blue-bottle's tiny body quickly worked itself up into a frenzy.

_The poor thing_, Sam thought, _it can see freedom, but not obtain it_.

The humm of its wings echoed dully in his ears, but the bang as the fly hit the pane time and time again could almost have been the sound of the colt's hammer slamming home. Sam blocked the image from his mind before looking back at Bobby. Winchester gave a half laugh and finally replied, "Badly."

"I figured," Singer commented.

The younger man sometimes wondered if their friend ever tired of being pulled all over the country by the weird and down right terrifying situations he and his brother often found themselves in.

Sam shook his head.

"This has really shaken him Bobby. I mean, my visions? That put him on tender hooks, but this? It was one thing when the evil stuff was happening to me. Dean seems to think that I have some inner angel that won't let any amount demonic activity tip me over... but when it come to himself? I dunno, it's as if... as if..."

"He has no faith." Singer finished for him.

Sam nodded, then lifted his coffee cup and drained it. The bitter tang of the over boiled beverage mixed in with tremulous feeling in his gut. A small part of Sam was still pissed at Dean for all the rash things he'd done over the last few weeks. Dean's recklessness before becoming a vampire, post the demon deal, was bad enough. But during the fight with Kate and now on the nights when Dean left for his solo hunts, he seemed to take more and more unnecessary risks. To watch him do so wrung Sam dry inside. On the occasions when Dean left him alone, all the insomniacs telly in the world could never ease Sam's concern. The tube only offered his eyes a distraction from staring at dirty walls, but failed to reach the inner parts of his brain where his imagination ran through one terrible situation after another. When he'd awoke still exhausted at dawn and seen the blood in the bathroom and the gory mess of Dean's jacket, he'd remembered the night before. Dean had come in as battered as a road crash victim. This morning, after no deliberation, Sam'd called on their oldest, and most trusted friend.

In the beginning of this whole vampire mess, the junk yard owner had informed Sam he might be able to help Dean a little. The offer had been welcomed by the younger Winchester but not by the elder; Dean having cut Sam's call to the elder man on that occasion. After that, Bobby and Sam had ultimately agreed it was best to wait for Dean to ask first. Singer didn't heard from the boys for weeks, and he'd expected and guessed the reason; 'Stubborn' might not be on Dean's birth certificate, but it should have been. Thinking of the call this morning, he'd equally not been surprised by the pitched sound of Sam's voice asking if he could come quick. It could be argued that 'Stubborn' was perhaps the middle name of all Winchesters, with a double barrelled 'Uptight,' for Sam. The younger man was obviously tired of his sibling's reluctance to ask for help, and from the tale of the bloody mess that Sam had given Bobby over the phone, this meeting was a long time overdue.

Both men settled back into their seats again as they both thought about it. Last night, like all the nights when Dean hunted for food, the younger Winchester had only allowed himself to relax when he'd heard Dean settle into the bed opposite. To see the mess that Dean's expedition had gotten him into this time was the last straw for Sam. Pissed had turned into down right anger, propelling him into speed dialling Bobby from outside his and Dean's motel room as the sun rose.

Inside after hanging up, he'd quietly cleaned up the blood and surreptitiously checked Dean over in the light of day. While knowing that the only way to kill a vampire was by beheading, to seeing the reality of your vampire brother covered in blood, still required a double check for the younger Winchester to know Dean was really okay. In the routine of cleaning up their room, Sam's agitation had simmered down enough so that he'd thoughtfully left his brother a note with his wash things out. Sam, like Dean, angry or not, when something was wrong with the other, they took care of it. That was the Winchester, and particularly Sam's anger all over. It was always a double edged sword. Sam's anger was because of fear. It was something that had always caused rifts in his relationship with his father. Outwardly, Sam had raged since puberty that the life they led was a selfish one attributed to John's thirst for revenge. It took John's death before Sam allowed himself to acknowledge that most of his anger was the fear that none of them would ever have a normal life. It was the fear that one day, their father or his brother would not return. Older now, Sam could now acknowledge that perhaps John's revenge trip might also have been born of a need to free his sons and himself from the horror which had visited them that cold November night. At the time however, the young man had only been able to deal with the pain their family's situation through resentment.

Sam let out a frustrated breath.

And now the situation was happening all over again with Dean. He and Dean had no control over their lives and once more Sam was being left behind to worry that a member of his family might not come back. Not that Dean had any other choice. He could drink cows blood like Lenor and her nest, but because of their work, how often did they definitely find cows on their road trip? Blood banks also worked, for the blood was taken from live donors and therefore, although packaged, not technically dead. It was like pre packed food for Dean. It fed him and kept him sane, but without the rush of feeling that comes from the host, it was just remedial. He could survive like that, but it would only be a matter of time before the hunger made him kill. That's why Sam had started to read as much vampire fiction as he could. Not wanting to rub the shit in Dean's face, Sam had read them behind his brother's back. In doing so, Sam had touched upon the longing in Rice, grieved with Stoker and then started on the vampire chick lit. It was the bottom of the barrel, but once he'd got his head round the lustful hunts in these, it had given Sam the idea. One day, after hearing Dean's painful gagging from the lab blood, Sam had managed to slip another copy of the book he'd been reading (having not touched it by hand because of the smell) and left it on the shelf, subtly open for Dean to read. Sam's plan had seemed to work for the next night Dean slipped out and the rest became history. Sam was petrified and angry each evening till Dean did come home, but at least he now knew that Dean was being fed, and wasn't going to be pushed into killing. He couldn't get his head round the horror of the situation though. Sam had given Dean the idea, setting him loose on the innocent and yet he personally was still only coping with the situation by being angry at Dean for not talking to Bobby. Perhaps he hadn't matured from his teen years as much as he would have liked? Sam also didn't think that he was quite as clever as he would have liked, for he didn't get away with the covert planting of the book: the next motel along, he'd woken up one morning with the book on his face with a particularly juicy paragraph ringed in red felt-tip pen. Something about throbbing members, the thigh artery and a fanged threesome – those vampires, they were a kinky lot.

Back in the now, Sam nodded at Bobby's comment.

"You talking to him might help. I just want him to show more care for himself. Damnit, I want him to be worried when he hunts... I want him to care that he is going to hell. For fuck sake Bobby, I'm not nearer to freeing him from the first curse he was under and now there is this. Before we went after that witch in Jersey and before Kate caught up with us, I had a plan. I was working through every bit of demon law I could find. Now everything is just shot to shit."

"Ellen heard back from the guy who called you to Jersey in the first place, you know the one who took a shot at you and who Dean re arranged the arms of?"

"How could I forget? Being bitten is one thing, but being shot? Even over a vest, it is something else. I think my intestines ended up in my lungs," he gave a lame grin.

"He did have some dealings with demon traps. Ellen didn't lead you there on purpose, despite what you two may now think," something flickered across Bobby's face that Sam couldn't identify.

"Bobby... about the Harvells. I understand how they feel. Shit, I would have shot me a, long time ago. Jo is justified in her reaction to me. And as much as I am pissed at Ellen for shooting at Dean,' his hand clenched on the table, 'Her reaction was ultimately Dean's own to his condition." He lowered his voice on the last sentence loosening his grip. Being raised as a child in the world of the supernatural sometimes made him and Dean forget that their occupation wasn't one on offer by most guidance councillors. It got them some funny looks from people when they talked a little loudly in public about spirits and incantations. Sam cast a careful glance over at the small families, couples and truckers tucking-in happily at the other tables.

"Sam?" It was said carefully, almost questioningly.

"Bobby, what is it?"

"Ellen,' he paused, 'I'd steer clear of her and Jo. Don't judge them badly, but I also wouldn't follow any tips they have to offer."

"Okay... so you don't want us to be pissed, but you also don't want us to trust them?"

"I've managed to keep her from spilling the beans about Dean. You don't want her an' Jo to put other hunters like Gordon on your trail"

"I hear you. I think we have enough to worry about without that,' he paused before continuing, 'Bobby... I, err, I don't know if we say it often enough or at all, but thanks, you know, for helping, for being there. We would've been dead as children if it weren't for you. Dad too."

Gratitude lit the older man's face. "Don't make me weep boy. What between you and your brother's sob stories, I got enough emotional trauma to deal with without being made to feel appreciated. I never got no thanks from your daddy. Don't expect none from you either."

Sam smiled his first true smile since Bobby had gotten out of his truck.

"Well, just so as you know."

"Yeah. I'm glad you called. If you hadn't, I was gonna call you. Not about Dean either. I knew either you or he would come gate crashing back into this old man's life sooner or later about his, err predicament." Singer took a drink of his cold coffee. Sam scrunched his forehead up in a silent question.

"I wanted to hear where you two had been over the last few weeks, before I confirmed my suspicions..." he was cut off as two truckers suddenly burst into heavy laughter.

Singer turned his attention to the noisy two, watching as the female one called out, "You're a fucking liar. There is no way a girl's party bags stay that high without being Barbie. You're so full of shit Jeff." To which the guy replied, "It's why you love me so much Sal."

The woman laughed again in good humour and then stood saying, "For that you can get the cheque, lover boy. I wanna be off before the werewolves come out. Full moon and all that."

Jeff grinned up at her while dumping money on the table, "Seeing you in the full moon would bring the wolf out in me." he said. Sal chuckled moving towards the door and as she passed Sam and Bobby's table, yelled back to Jeff, "That's what I'm afraid of hon. See you on down the road."

Smiling, Sam and Bobby watched her over ripe curves swish out the building and in doing so they noticed for the first time just how dark it had become.

"It's not the wolves you gotta fear in this town Sal, it's the blood suckers and the cannibals." Jeff chuckled and caught the door as it swung back towards his face and then left too.

Together, Winchester and Singer stared out of the glass door, watching the final descent of the sun.

It turned the car park red.

"I'll tell you when he gets here Sam,"said Singer finishing off his earlier sentence.

They continued to watch out of the glass, until the waiter filled their cups again. Once filled and in turns, both men shot the odd glance out. It was a physical show of their apprehension and it paralleled the sound of their silence. To outsiders, these movements would seem like an uncontrollable nervous tick. It was funny really, that of all the creatures of the night these two men had faced, the one's brother and the the other's pseudo nephew was the one creature to make them really jumpy.

The sun flared a wonderful ruby, before finally slipping behind the buildings opposite. Sam and Bobby straightened up in their seats watching the last of those fading rays. The sky settled into the purple cloak of dusk, and as it did so, a pale figure appeared from out of the motel room the focus of their covert glances. Their tension upped a little, especially after that figure stopped, looked back at them and then seemed to inflate to twice the size he was previously. Sam stared back into that lighter hazel look, and then snorted. Like he was ever going to be truly scared of his brother.

Nervous perhaps, but never scared.

The bell over the café door chimed and Sam and Bobby waited for the eruption.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The twin person smells hit him as he opened the motel door. He'd not caught the second familiar one upon waking because of blood loss. His following shower and fight with the demonic door had further clouded his senses, masking the scent. It was only now, with the door open and the dying evening sun's last heat lifting the pine breeze did Dean finally catch Bobby's scent. In doing so, he was instantly filled with dread; dread, shame and then indignation.

"Fucking Sam. Little shit. I'm gonna kill him." There was only one way their pseudo uncle had returned to Win-world again, and that was if his sweet baby brother had blabbed.

Dean paused on the step, half temped to go to the Impala and drive off. That would teach the meddling little turd not to mess in his business. If he, Dean did not want to see Bobby then he wouldn't. It was his freaking choice after all. Dean did not need any snot nosed, bookish sibling interference! The young man dithered, the temptation to flee working up his spine. "Oh fuck it," he muttered. Dean deliberately narrowed his eyes, puffed up, and met his brother's look with a flat dead stare. His look clearly sent the message, 'You're going to get it for this little brother, and with both barrels.' It pissed Dean off further when Sam didn't even flinch but only acknowledged Dean's lethal look with a quirk of his chin.

"I don't wanna do this... you might think it's cathartic to face your damned fears, but you don't have to fall asleep at night and wake with the taste of old blood at the back of your throat. Blood which no amount of mouthwash cleans up Sammy. What if he isn't as cool with this as you are? What if he sees me for what I truly am? A total monster who almost killed you... a freak who is only hanging on now because this curse makes me that little bit better at making sure no other bitches get to you Sam.' For once his brain had run ahead of his mouth and Dean didn't even realise that his monologue had gone silent after his initial 'I don't wanna do this.'

The sun gone, Winchester felt panic set in, constricting his chest. Forcing calm, he dragged in air to loosen the vice clamped around his rib cage. The phantom need for air was still something his body demanded on occasion. At times it could be totally indifferent to the fact that breathing in only inflated dead lungs for veins and a heart which didn't need it. It hadn't from when (in what Dean considered his total weakness,) he'd drunk from the vampire. That ingestion had started a ball rolling which was made irreversible from his first taste of human blood. The real kicker being that Dean's first taste of human blood had come from the only person left he truly loved.

Sighing against his bad luck, namely one Samuel Winchester, Dean approached the café entrance.

* * *

The chime of the door sounded to Sam like some churchyard death bell. If the doomed look on his sibling's face was anything to go by, the simile may also have occurred to Dean. Sam's lean face held only the slightest hint of shame as Dean glowered at him. He offered Dean a half grin and then shrugged by way of apology. Dean simply stayed standing, his posture stiff. He was determined to delay looking at Bobby for as long as possible and focused all his ire on Sam.

"Next time I want you to run my life, freak, I'll ask you too... oh wait, there won't be a next time."

"You gonna take a seat, or just keep standing there to, you know, just draw that little bit more attention to yourself? I mean, if Herickson's still on our tail, he would orgasm if a local was chatty about two young guys matching our descriptions that got into it at the local diner." Sam jerked his head at the kid opposite whom he'd talked to earlier about soccer. Dean snatched a look too, and found the kid was dripping ice cream off his spoon while staring back at him. The kid seemed to quake for a second, then shovelled the food into his mouth. The smooth dark brown skin of the boy's neck wobbled for a moment and he coughed a little, dribbling out cream. Dean's gut kicked at the sight of the boys swallow, his vampire blood tempting him with thoughts of a feast. He clamped down on his dark musings and sent a calming look back to the kid's stare. It worked and Dean sensed the boy's heart slow from its hit of adrenalin. Dean nodded to the kid's hot mother who gave him an appraising look back before he then rounded on Sam. The elder Winchester snorted, and silently surrendering, slid into the booth next to Sam. Dean moved over, his elbow ending up none to gently in his brother's ribs. It was a small victory for Dean, as in sitting, his eyes were on a level with Bobby's.

"Great, just freaking great. Do you come as you need to work on your stake whittling skills Singer? Is that why you're here? Or do you have a nice machete lined up for this bitching neck of mine? I'd be a pretty trophy to be stuffed and mounted over that fireplace of yours!" Dean upped his most 'fuck you' grin, beaming it at Bobby like an interrogation lamp. His grin only dropped after Bobby's grizzled face remained impassive to his Winchester tirade.

"You done?" Sam asked leaning forward onto the table, interrupting the staring match.

"Nope, I got plenty more in store for you, asshole."

"Really." Sam said mildly. Turning his attention from Dean to Bobby, Sam smiled, "Sorry for the tantrum Bobby. We'll buy you dinner to go with that caffeine as an apology." Sam flicked his eyes back to Dean as if to gage his reaction before looking down at the menu. "I fancy the steak, nice and bloody. How about you Dean?"

* * *

_Well that was fucking tactful_, thought Singer. Bobby shook his head letting his mind wander back over the implications of the day so far and of the complications commonly known as Winchester. Before Dean's bullish arrival, the yard owner had been able to assess the situation by reading the youngest member of the hunting clan. The undercurrent of anger, the guilt and the fear in Sam while they talked, now had Singer more worried about the younger boy than the elder. Sam had been brave over the last few weeks, determined to help his elder brother in anyway possible. But his usual quiet countenance had been unbalanced by the betrayal he was about to bring to Dean, and Bobby watched as the emotions never far from Sam's soulful face ran over his features one by one. It was strange to see Sam so unsure of his actions because during a fight, or even when he'd been fearful of how evil he would end up, once made, Sam had never questioned his own decisions. If Sam set himself on a course, he would follow it to the bitter end. Far to much like John for Bobby's piece of mind. But as he watched the young man talk, he found an indecisiveness in Sam that was concerning. Sam was sometimes still a child in his views in the world. Shocking really, considering what he'd witnessed during his 23 years. Bobby could see teen-Sam on the surface, stewing over Dean's recklessness, but deeper down, Sam was still that small boy basking the the light of his idolised older brother. Looking from one to the other now, Bobby knew he'd been right to come. Hell, he would have been here as soon as he'd awoke, sore and weak in Jersey. The only reasons he hadn't gone chasing after the Winchester's then was the worried phone call from Sam protesting his brother's innocence and Bobby's own knowledge of the repressed bundle of self loathing that was Dean. Singer knew from experience how Dean coped with things; he'd initially pretend that they didn't exist, then bleed inside and fuck his body up, mind and spirit until the pain came pouring out in the most violent way possible. Singer only hoped he'd missed the repression part in time to soften the final crash. The by play between the brothers offered some relief to the older man that his absence had been the right thing to do. He also reckoned that now was also the right time to come back. It seemed as if Dean had managed to swallow his downward spiral and was back in control. The most telling sign of Dean's balancing act being his ability to bully, and then back down under Sam's empathy. In times darkest distress, an example being after John's death, Dean was unreachable. At those times, he even denied and lashed out at his most welcome avenue of compassion, his brother.

In Cold Oak Bobby knew he'd lost them both as he'd walked out that door. He only hoped that there was damage control in what was happening now. Singer had yet to tell them of the other reason why he was here. There was a darkness eating at the tail of the Impala. One more unholy bastard desperate, it seemed to want to swallow the boys whole.

Bobby opened his mouth to speak just as Sam twisted round to talk to the ice ream boy and his mother as they reached to café door.

* * *

The kid had examined the scary-man when he first stormed in. The man moved like he was some psycho. The boy couldn't help but wonder who the dangerous looking new comer was. He was tall and pale looking and David could not imagine why the scary-man would be giving death rays to the nice long-haired man who'd commented on his soccer T when David had asked to borrow his menu.

The cold of his desert dripped over his fingers and the boy realised that he was the one now under observation. He swallowed his mouthful of sundae, almost chocking as the ice hit his throat. Was it his imagination, or did the scary-man watch his throat constrict with a hint of squashed excitement?

He quickly turned to his mother for safety, but she was too busy giving the newcomer a different kind of examination: one that had that twinkle in her eye like she'd had one too many cocktails with her fair weather buddies. The scary-man met his freaked look levelly and nodded. David's fear got replaced with curiosity and even after the newcomer sat roughly next to the long-haired man he continued to watch with interest, his sundae forgotten as he mused over the why's and how's of the two young, and the old man sitting opposite.

David was roused from his thoughts of possible explanations for the three men - the most exciting of which involved undercover spy's - by his mother paying the bill and shooing him out the booth. He smiled as the tallest of the three men as he tapped David's on the shoulder on the way out. Sam, one of the only things David had overheard was the scary-man call the long haired man that. David noticed how large Sam's hand appeared on his small shoulder and hoped that he would get that strong one day.

"You keep practising that hook and I'm sure it'll pay-off." David loved soccer, almost as much as he loved his mom. He liked Sam for talking to him about it.

"Oh don't encourage him. I'm proud of him having an interest and being good at it, but I'm not a footie fan." His mom's English accent was often commented on in these backwater diners but this man just laughed. David looked to Sam and to the scary-man. They smiled at his mom appreciatively. David smiled back. He knew these men saw a pretty woman and were admiring but they didn't know about the real reason she was perfect. He was proud of his mom. She had a hard job in sales and often had to drag him round the country, but he never minded. Her warm hand on his shoulder and a sweet, soft kiss at night was better than any persistent home or school. He knew she was saving up for that, and until then he'd follow her anywhere. He gripped her hand tight. The once scary-man gave David an assessing look and put a hand to Sam's back.

"This is my younger brother Sam, and my name's Dean." David could see that the hand to his brother's should was just as protective as how he cupped his mom's hand. He nodded to the once scary-man, Dean. "You take care of your mom kid."

"Yes sir."

David followed his mom to their Buick and settled in the seat. His belly was happy and his mind was full of spies who played soccer. His mom revved up the engine and they left the dingy diner and the three men behind. It was only a matter of moments before his eyes closed and he slept.

* * *

Down the road, Lucy let her eyes run over her little boy unable to repress the soft smile as she heard his little snores. She looked back to the bleached road and opened the window letting in the breeze to keep her awake. No way was she going to fall asleep at the wheel while the most precious person in the world was in her car. It kind of reminded her of the way that elder brother Dean had clapped his brother on the shoulder. Family was everything.

A few miles on she caught up with those loud truckers, who despite their language in front of David, had made her smile. She couldn't wait till she had a proper home for her and David where she could make real friends. She knew how hard road life was for relationships. She passed the female Sal's red cabin and held up a hand. Sal caught it in the dark and offered one of her own.

Neither Jeff nor Lucy was aware that someone had followed their loved one's from the diner. The figure in the car following them gasped in the smell clinging to David's and Sal's clothes. Saliva formed in the back of it's mouth and it shook with anticipation.

Sal had picked the scent up when she brushed past the coat hanging over the back of his booth, and David when his shoulder had been grasped. Hopefully for Sam, he would never realise that in carelessly dropping his coat and by being friendly he'd committed the trucker, the boy and their loved ones to death. Unfortunately, hope never kindled for very long in the Winchester family and later he would discover it with horror. For Lucy, after waking in the dark and feeling the pain, her only hope was that David was a fast runner from being a great striker and would escape. And later, Lucy would only be thankful that David's nasty mean hook had served to piss the creature off and it had killed her precious boy first. It had spared him the pain and the knowledge of what happened to her.

The thing that followed them was a child killer, and had wanted to savour the boy. As the light slipped from Lucy's eyes it felt no pity, only annoyance at itself for the boy dying so quick. A second later however, in a rapid change of mood it was instantly delighted. _Oh well, these are just the exercises until I'm strong enough for..._ excitement like liquid pleasure tripped down the monster's body. It couldn't wait to taste the sweet pleasure that was Samuel Winchester.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The quiet left in the wake of the boy and his mother stayed absolute for at least a whole two minuets until Dean huffed. He'd never been able to list silence endurance as one of his qualities, having always found it somewhat akin to physical torture.

_Dude, this has got to be worse than hell_, he surmised.

He hated that the other two knew him so well. He could practically feel Bobby and Sam just waiting for him to break and make the first move. They knew that in remaining viscously tight lipped, eventually he would have to fill the gap.

"Too right bro, steak, nice an bloody. Should give this dead kicker of mine a real boost. Better yet, I wonder if I can nab the beast still standing? Hot and tasty." Defences still up, his shit slick grin back in place, he silently begged Bobby to attack or defend, anything was better than this new rock of a man sitting across the way. _Shit, fuck – you bastard. I thought it was friggin' dad who was the ball breaker._

He felt like his nuts were being twisted up into his gut. There was such pressure in the air between the three of them that he was sure the solid weight of it could be reached out and touched. He felt as though it pressed them all into a isolated world of their own. Dean was never given to flights of fancy, but here in this tired old diner, the rest if the patrons could have been worlds away. He supposed in a spiritual way they were. If they were lucky, these normal people would never know the shadows that stalked their light. It was an image only further enhanced by the darkness, lying like a thick blanket beyond the diner's window. Past the fly buzzing in his face, he could only make out vague shapes obscured by the ghostly mirror image of the people and tables inside. Dean jiggled cramped shoulders ignoring a tingling scent in the air. _Someone's steaks too bloody?_ he questioned before stamping down on the rush.

He sighed, leaned back and fixed his attention on the stern features of his old friend. He eased the muscles in his body, allowing his keen senses to take in the hum-drum sounds of the other diners. It was a habit he had practised over the last few nightmare weeks. To scan a room for any threat had been second nature to him since he was four years old. This past experience, with the added spirit of his new blood had created an efficient and lethal cocktail. His mind screaming for Sam or Bobby to break the stifling silence while his blood fixated upon the subtle sounds and smells expelled by the people beyond the barriers of their table. The living called to him; his hearing capturing the chorus of heartbeats and his mouth the taste and smell of the blood running thick and warm within everyone but himself.

And one other.

In a moment, all things stopped for the vampire. His blood, free from the overpowering fear of his mind finally recognised the other reason for his tension. His nose flared and he swung away from the table. Something was here. No, something had been here. It was leaving, a creature not of the human world. Alarm bells ringing, the vampire straightened suddenly, sweeping a careful glance over the startled figure of his prize-prey, and beyond to a car speeding away from the open door of his current daylight den. The departing vehicle left a whisper in the air that something was not as it should be. He moved away from his protected-prey in one smooth movement. Hooded eyes scanning the far dark doorway, he grabbed a fistful of his brother-prey's jacket and shoved him behind. A little part of the human Dean yelled for Sam and Bobby to stay on alert and be close but the vampire in him only shot a silver glare at them both.

"What?" Bobby let the door bounce back as Sam chucked bills on the table.

"He's caught something. Quick!"

"I can see that but what?" They both ran out of the door to charge into Dean as he stood on the curb. The impact brought Dean back from the being the animal.

He jerked his chin at the open doorway to their room and then pulled the keys from his pocket. He jingled them in front of his sibling.

"You always lock it." Sam said matter of fact.

"Just follow, Carefully. I think it is empty but you never know what presents our friends may leave." In synchronization the brothers' released the ever present weapons concealed from a pocket or belt, falling into an easy pattern. No other people were present as the trio made their way across to the boys' room.

* * *

Covering both sides of the unlit doorway, Bobby softly warned the boys, "Something's been following you two.'

Sam shot the bearded man a look, surprise lifting his lips.

He didn't get to speak before the old man continued, 'I'd wanted to tell you both together."

Singer shrugged carefully, trying not to look too guilty at the delay.

"Well now you have," bit out Dean grimly.

Rolling in first, Dean flicked to the right. Sam followed to the left, catching the light switch as he passed. Bobby came as cavalry, careful to fill the doorway, effectively blocking the view from outsiders. He held a battered diary and rosary.

The room was torn to shreds; blood and dark patterns littered the walls. Sam's research was scattered all around and their clothing and sheets were stretched out. It looked like a bear had thrown a frat party.

In unison the Winchesters' called, "Bathroom clear," and "Wardrobe, under beds clear."

Bobby rehashed a quick cleansing spell before releasing his breath. "I know you boys are woman-less but even my place don't get this bad."

Dean automatically checked the windows for sulphur while Sam sucked in air checking for Ozone. Neither substance was present and the men looked at each other unsure. Bobby walked more carefully into the room, mindful of the congealing pools on the floor.

"Don't pull that... remember we've stayed at your place. A lot." Sam accompanied it with a shaky smile.

"Yeah, and every time I need six weeks of construction work to get rid of the cracks."

"Hey, focus. Geek boy, you think this is a poltergeist?"

"Sure happened fast. How long were you gone, five minutes, ten?"

"If that."

Sam closed in on one of the symbols etched into the wall. It was a pentagram. The plaster had split and blood had been dripped into the grooves. He rubbed one long finger over the crack and sniffed the residue. He'd smelled blood too many times in his short life to be sickened by it but his nose still wrinkled up at the scent. The tackiness of it stayed on his fingers even after he'd rubbed them clean on his jeans.

"Hope you boys didn't pay a deposit."

"Yup, damn. Won't be getting that back. Never mind - I haven't paid today's rent so I think I may just skip town. Serves them right for giving us the devil's own motel room. The robbin' bastards." Dean moved some of Sam's paperwork over with his boot checking beneath. The debris pissed him off. Sam and he didn't have that many possessions but what they did have was precious and this supernatural SOB had screwed them up. Collecting the carefully made notes, he wiped them clean with a bandanna from his coat while moving closer to his brother's examination of the plasterwork.

"Sam, do you think that it's any coincidence that most of the damage is over your side of the room?" he asked quietly, tilting a serious look up to the younger man. Stepping back from the wall, Sam could see that Dean had a point. Someone had pulled his things apart and the new wall art had was a grizzly addition above his bed. He noticed that the headboard and sheets had similar carvings and patterns in blood and that they were covering a lumpy dark mass. Whatever was under the sheet had leaked a foul smelling dark oil into the cotton. Oddly attracted, he reached towards the sheet only to be gently restrained by Dean.

"Heads up." Dean reached for the sheet instead and pulled it back. The thing underneath was a wax moulding, intricately held together with what appeared to be human bone. It was in the shape of a crude male doll. The hands, feet and neck of the figure were bound with hair which, to Dean, looked a disturbingly similar shade to Sam's own chestnut locks.

"Voodoo?"

"No, witchcraft. You know better than I that dolls were only introduced to Haiti and the like by white witchlore. This looks like a wax doll. European magic."

"Yeah." The glistening in Dean's green eyes was the only contradiction to his calm voice.

"So, any idea how to get rid of it? Bobby?"

"Shit boys. Not off the top of my head."

"Dean, why would someone use a simulacrum on me but at the same time put up additional protection spells?"

"Simula-? Forget it. Don't think I wanna know.' Dean stopped until a nudge from Sam prompted him on, 'I have no idea Sammy, but whoever – whatever, it is better be ready... People better not be thinking that they can mess with you without knowing they have to get through me first." Again Dean sought the icy calm within himself. Something had been here, touched his brother's things and had tried to stake a claim on him. Whoever, or whatever they were, they'd picked the wrong soul to prey upon. Dean would make sure of it.

"Aww, so sweet. Good job I like my coffee black or I'd be retching right now." Bobby hated this. Again and again; how may more creatures would hunt these boys?

Dean jerked around at Bobby's voice. He'd almost forgotten his friend was here. Rage settled down within Dean and he smiled. It was amazing how anger could make a man over come fear. Showering him with a bitter smirk Dean faced up to Singer, "Bobby man. Look, I'm not gonna apologise. You and Francis screwed me over here. I wanted to work this out for myself... it's just so...friggin'... Hell. Shit. Forget it man. Just say your bit and then get the hell out."

"Huh?" The junk yard owner's voice was as puzzled as the look levelled at him by Sam.

"I want you back in Dakota finding a way to cleanse this friggin' spell. So spill, then fuck off. In the nicest possible way."

It was an open hand that Dean dealt him and the older man nodded in bitter understanding. "Fine, you wanna hear what I've been thinking...well sure, you damned idjit.' Squaring up, Bobby did what he felt he should have done in Cold Oak and let the boy have it. 'Damn. All I've been hoping is that you don't screw yourself several times over,' Singer watched the look flash over Dean's face, "Did you think I'd reject you? I've never once hurt you or Sam, and God knows the situations you two get yourselves into, I've come close on occasion, but I've never even been tempted to think that you two aren't worth it. Jesus Dean. I've been doing my nut boy. Terrified for you. Fearful for your brother. Did it not once occur to you that I could help, huh? I've been a hunter a friggin' long time. Over those years I've known shades of grey. There is no black and white in this world Dean. I'm not your screw up of a father!' he held a stalling hand up to Dean's clenched fist, 'Did you think I wouldn't realise you were working it through? I'm just pissed that you thought I wouldn't help - that you thought it would matter." It was an awkward ending but at least he'd said it. He tugged at his cap and turned to go. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring better news and I'm sorry I didn't get my news to you soon enough. Keeping tabs on you two sure ain't easy. Like smoke, you two. I guess for all his bull, John did know his stuff." A brief sad smile ghosted the younger Winchester's face.

"You told me 'no thanks', so no apologies either. Same goes. But, thanks Bobby, again and again."

_EMO boy wins out_, thought Dean, swallowing his own words.

"I already warned you about that Sam. No need for thanks. Makes me blush. I just keep an eye out for sightings of you both and I pump Ellen for information about jobs suddenly done before other hunters get there. When I do, I find out if the culprits were tall and cocky, and yatzee, I got ya."

"Do you blush while pumping, Ellen?' drawled Dean. He wrapped the doll in the sheet and handed it over. He waited for rejection but when non came he moved forward and embraced the older man. 'I knew this was gonna be a bad day." he muttered into the oil stained jacket.

Singer didn't move for a second from shock. A tiny bit of extra moisture sparkled in his eyes as he nodded to Sam and put a hand to Dean's head. Bobby scrubbed the short hair like he used to when Dean was young enough to relish such affection; in the time before John made Dean too old and too hard to accept comfort.

Standing back he patted the older Winchester's shoulder. "Okay. I am gonna 'fuck off' now and go save your skinny asses for the millionth time."

"By pumping, Ellen? Or by her pumping you, back?"

"Dude, I don't wanna think about Bobby naked, so shut up!" Sam squeaked as he moved forward to shake Bobby by the hand.

"You think I'm past it lad?"

"All he's saying old man, is that YOU are old. And believe you me, Henry's nocking shop next door was not good."

"Henr-? Never mind. I'll tell Ellen what you think About me. That rifle she has loaded will be primed if she catches eyes on you after that."

"Like it isn't already."

Bobby walked to his truck, the boys following so he bareley caught the bitter comment.

"I've said this to Sam. Don't misjudge, but don't trust her for the time being. She's woman enough to have seen it all – like me, she knows things are all the shades of grey. Give it time son.' Hauling himself up into the cab, he called down to the Winchesters, 'I'll work on this. But Sam, watch your back. Watch Dean's back. Dean watch him... and, don't do anything stupid... er."

"Like he is gonna break the habit of a lifetime," said Sam, which got him swatted on the back of the head by his brother.

"I mean it boys.' Singer peered sternly down into twin hazel eyes. 'I need you two alive. You still friggin' owe me a steak for driving down here after all.' He fiddled under the dash and then lobbed a cloth bag to Dean. 'Not sure, but this may help you." He slammed the door shut before Dean could ask further and revved the truck into life.

* * *

_A/N - All mistakes are sadly mine._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N – I was hoping to write this story without referring back to For Life too often, but I don't think this is going to play out like that - so sorry to any new readers; I apologise and please let me know if I have lost you at any point._

* * *

Chapter 5

'Cheers Bobby – The images are loading now. Yeah, yeah... I know how you hate these damned machines...' Dean could hear Singer's grumbles half a room away from where the cell phone was pressed up to his brother's ear. 'You could have just given us the pictures while you were here ya know?' Sam burst out laughing at whatever Bobby's reply was whilst sneaking a quick look in Dean's direction, 'Yeah I know, his luvvy moment threw you...' he snorted louder this time, his nose and face crinkling up in mirth, 'Yup, I holy watered and Cristo'd his ass. No black smoke,' it was a lingering look he short at Dean this time, 'Nope, even silver hasn't brought out any adverse effects in pod-Dean. I believe the chick-flick moment we witnessed was a natural occurrence, without the aid of beer or heavy medication... God, you're right Bobby. I'd better try the holy water again, this time followed by a full on exorcism." Sam kept his face straight for two seconds, until Dean gave an annoyed sigh, and then he peeled off into full throated laughter. Despite being at the butt of the joke, Dean couldn't help but think that the sound was good to hear. He was not surprised to find it reviving - the big warm sound almost quenching the darkness building within him at the thought of some piece of demonic crap once again setting it's sights on Sam. Despite fighting it, a grin lit his face under the carefully constructed scowl he threw at Sam.

"Tell ass face, next time he finds a crappy job, he can damn well do it himself, twerp." Dean drawled and then glanced down at the car magazine he was pretending to read. Sam relayed the message down the phone and after a pause cocked his head and voiced Bobby's reply, "He says next time we get our stupid, looser asses in deep shit, we can friggin' well dig ourselves out of it without his help." To which Dean retorted with a single fingered salute.

"Okay. I'd better go. Little Miss Sunshine has her panties in a twist and might just blow a fuse... We will. You too." Sam finished and cut the call.

"You two are such assholes."

"Only learning by your example." Sam offered him with one of his super bright smiles before turning back to the monitor. The elder Winchester clocked the second in which his little brother's smile dropped. Sam had fixed on the timer telling him that the files were loading. Dean watched him out the corner of his eye as Sam stared openly as that cursor flipped and turned. Part of Dean didn't want the thing to stop. That little part was happy for them to remain in ignorance over what lay beyond those twisting speckles of graphics because once loaded, he knew that they would be one more nightmare in a long list for Sam to agonise over. Regardless of his demon deal, the elder boy reasoned his own soul lost years ago, and while he would mourn the children, what hurt Dean more was the knowledge that once seen, they would reflect yet another piece of Sam's innocence being lost to the madness of their world.

The screen finally blipped and flashed as the first image popped up. Whatever it showed drained the colour from Sam's face. He softly called his brother over. Dean knew that he often smothered his younger sibling with his 'big brother' routine, but for just this once, he hoped Sam wouldn't baulk. His protective instincts were always raised by Sam's little lost voice, and as much as Sam usually fought his coddling tooth and nail, there were times when Dean knew that he welcomed its presence. Releasing a breath over what he was about to see, Dean slowly peeled himself from off the bed and closed the short distance between them. Any picture that could make his emotive but hardy brother flinch was not to been viewed without preparation and Dean took those steps cautiously. He swallowed the bile at the back of his throat before focusing on the screen, and when he did so, he was glad that he had. The horrifically detailed photograph captured a cruelty all to real and harrowing to even begin to imagine a child going through, and the pain of it touch Dean deep inside. He stepped closer to Sam's chair, seeking comfort from his brother's nearness, hoping Sam wouldn't pull back from his shadowing, for in reality, he needed Sam too.

"Poor kids..." The bleak look they shared in front of the screen conveyed a multitude of messages encompassing grief, horror, pity... an endless list of emotions totted up to too many lives lost at the hand of too much evil.

Sam dropped his brittle gaze back to the screen leaving Dean to stare at the side of his shaggy head a moment. Those long locks had always added to Sam's boyish charms, and usually the unruly mess made Dean smile into thinking that no matter how tall, or muscled he became, Sam would always be Sammy to him. However, the sight of them unnerved Dean now. Heaven knows he didn't want his brother to grow up but with the danger around them building day by day, how could he still continue to nurture Sam's youth? Shaking his head, he figured it was a decision best left to another day.

"Dean... I can't even think what to say, how to express...' Sam dry swallowed, 'we have to find this thing."

Dean dropped a hand to Sam's shoulder, and although it only touched for the merest fraction of an instant, it was long enough for him to say that they shared the opinion that finding this creature was bigger than themselves: it was for all the past and future pain it would cause if they failed to destroy it. The silence between them stretched as again they ran past how terrifying this would have been to that child.

Dean had always been attuned to his brother's changes of mood, and when Sam lowered his brow; the look of horrified bewilderment being replaced with thoughtful intensity, Dean asked him, "What'ch got Kojack?"

"Dean... do these look like the Jersey pictures? You know, the witch from before... Kate?"

Ignoring the twinge in his gut that her name always ignited, Dean forced himself to look closer. He could see what his brother meant. The macabre arrangement of the bones with the feet and hands tied with hair was the same as the present left in Sam's sheets. But seeing it done with a full body and not just with wax and fragments, he remembered the bones discovered in Jersey. The bones on that hunt hadn't had quite such a distinct pattern as animals had moved them around, nevertheless thinking back it was pretty obvious now that following whatever sick ritual they'd been used for, this is how they would have been left. The only main difference, apart from the animal disturbance, was that then the bones had been completely striped of flesh, where as here all the ligaments and most of the muscle still clung on. It appeared as though the ritual had been rushed in the recent attacks and whatever was doing it now wasn't finishing the grim job properly.

"Kate said she chased the witch off didn't she?" Dean asked. Sam nodded and tapped on the keypad to zoom in on the police photograph.

"She said she ran after hearing who we were. Not sure I believe that."

"Speak for yourself Jeffrey - I strike terror into the hearts of the evil dead."

Dean got the weak smile he was fishing for, staying by his brother's side as Sam began to flick through the rest of the images. The pictures showed the vestiges of eight different corpses. When they got to the last bloody image, something finally registered with Dean: some of the pictures showed adult remains.

"Hang on – these aren't just the pictures of children." Sam nodded at Dean's comment and clicked to the text email. The email was full of the victims' details; age, sex, ethnicity, occupation etc. Dean leaned over Sam's shoulder and they both read the information together.

"Dean, Bobby was right. This thing has hit most of the town's we've passed through recently."

"Look at the names... most of them share surnames... it has been going after members of the same family." Dean pointed out.

"But why? I don't understand. All the vic's where kids before - chosen at random."

"Random children to us. To this thing... oh I don't know but don't these fucker's usually go for kids with that extra bit of purity or something?" The memory of Sam as a little kid, unconscious under the Shtriga flashed through Dean's head and for a second it blurred with the images on the screen. The intensity of his reaction to the thought turned his vision red. He closed a hand on Sam's shoulder, taking comfort from the sound of Sam's steady, life affirming heart beat.

"Usually."

"So why now go after adults too, unless the adults are just accidental? Do you think that they could just be in the way of getting to the kids?

"Maybe.' the younger Winchester opened another email. 'Shit Dean.' This one contained photographs of happily smiling families; of people together, alive and well. 'This girl... I spoke to her and her elder brother. I remember. It was inside the store... they asked me for change and...' Sam trailed off as he pulled up the next picture of a pair of wide-eyed teenagers who were quite obviously in love. A look of fearful recognition hit Sam's features and he flicked quickly on. At the next picture his words trailed off into, 'Oh God."

Dean had sensed the sudden jump in the tempo of his brother's pulse as the new email had loaded, and at Sam's admission that he knew all the victims, compassion flooded through the older man.

"Sammy..."

"Dean... I've met all these people. I've talked to everyone of these people! It was after... no, no... All these people are dead because of me!" Sam buried his face in his hands, to run them up over his hair.

"We don't know that."

"How else do you explain it Dean? Shit, I thought this thing was just stalking us, taking people at random. But it isn't, is it? It is going after people I've met. People I've talked too. Innocent people who've just had the misfortune to meet me."

"Sam... please."

"It's like Jess all over again." Whatever colour had been left in Sam's cheeks after seeing that first grim image vanished, leaving him ashen and ill looking. Dean narrowed his gaze, witnessing once again the guilt suck the life out of his little brother.

"It's not your fault. It never has and never will be your fault."

"Then why does it keep happening?"

Dean didn't have the answer. He could only offer the reassurance that, "We'll stop it Sammy. We always do."

"We don't always stop it Dean."

"I know. But we try." _And it's never gonna get it's fucking grubby hands on you or any other kid again, _Dean silently promised.

"Is it enough?"

"It is Sam."

"You mean it has to be."

Usually stoic, but with the pictures of the raw remains of the victims shining in his eyes, "It is Sam", he repeatedly gruffly. The elder Winchester turned away from the screen and his brother thinking, _I do Sam, 'cause what else is there? _

"Stay here. Don't talk to anyone and don't go to sleep. I want you guarding that door when I return. Okay?"

Sam nodded, sliding his gaze away from his brother. He didn't want to go out anyway. He didn't want to be responsible for any poor, unsuspecting bastard who had the misfortune to meet him. "I promise." he said. Sam tensed his shoulders against the stressed glance he could feel Dean shooting at his back. He knew the dilemma Dean was struggling with. Dean's first instinct would be to hunt this thing down on his own. His next would then be to worry about leaving Sam behind, should the danger come for Sam here while he was off trying to track it. Sam could also pick up on the third concern playing with his brother's rational: Dean needed to feed. The dark shadows had entered Dean's usually bright green gaze and he was continuously running his teeth over his bottom lip and then smoothing the pressure with the tip of his tongue. There were other telling signs to his brother's impending need to hunt; his pacing, the way he ran itchy finger tips over his jeans and the unconscious way he rested his eyes on Sam's throat. The first few weeks after the fight with Kate, these gestures had unnerved the younger man. Not to the degree where his trust in Dean was questioned, but to the level where he wandered what other changes in Dean's personality would occur over time. The blackness of his moods, and the constant shift from familiar Dean into this night stalker meant that Sam could never relax. His concern for Dean's mental state never let up, which is why he'd disregarded Dean's refusal to see Bobby and had asked the older man to come. Despite the terrible information Bobby had brought about the witch, Sam was glad to finally be able to share the burden with someone who also cared about his brother.

Catlike footfalls sounded in Sam's ears and he risked a glance at the elder man. Dean had stalked over to the window and was now playing with the drapes in agitation. Sam could always sense the change - when the need in Dean intensified. He'd seen it in the restaurant, when Dean had caught the scent of the witch. Gone had been the brother he knew, and in his place was just the vampire.

"Dean, man I'll be fine. Just, go," said Sam. Dean slammed his fist against the woodwork.

"I can't leave you. What if that thing follows you here?"

"Then I'll deal with it. I'll have more chance... Dean, don't take this wrong, but I have more chance against it than I think... than I know I would against you." Sam tensed at Dean's silence and then jumped when he heard the door slam.

"Great going Sam. Just ace," he murmured to himself, reaching for his gun.


	6. Chapter 6

Life Style Adjustments

Chapter 6

Dean covered the girl with a brightly coloured shawl, tucking the corners gently under her rear. He felt more guilty than usual with this one. She's been younger than his average conquest - perhaps no less in need than most of the women that he targeted but certainly more naive. He tended to head for women who wouldn't hate themselves in the morning. On the odd occasion, he'd come back the night after to check on how they were, and in most cases he'd find the women on the phone gossiping about how they'd pulled this 'fabulous' stranger but got too wasted to remember what to do with him. On those days the women's regretful sharing laughter lessened the bitterness in his mouth. He tried not to think about the nights where he'd gone back to find them alone in front of the illuminated square of the shopping network.

The girl moaned in her sleep and twisted the cover more tightly around her shoulders curling up. Dean could almost see the nasty flicking dreams running through her mind. Hers were the kind of dreams that left the sleeper forever chasing something out of reach; dreams that ruined waking hours with their total sense of dissatisfaction. He watched as she jerked around away from him and pressed her troubled brow deeper into the warmth of the cushion.

"If only pillows could take the pain away." he muttered.

He eased his body up from his knees and thrust his arms over his head, stretching out shoulders and belly muscles; feeling her blood enliven his cool flesh. It almost soothed the weight that languished from taking the little bit of happiness she'd felt as the pale stranger picked her up in the bar. He'd read her look from that first meeting of eyes. This was not her usual haunt. The hastily applied make-up and the outrageous sized bourbon told a tale of an unhappy safe girl taking a step down a dark road. The bar was a place of mystery for her, both vile and depraved. It was a place too dirty and dangerous to be good, but down right tense enough to be exciting. He knew he'd done her no favours this evening, but perhaps she would think twice before wasting her life away in liqueur and bad men.

"Sweet dreams kiddo."

Outside, he pulled the Impala off her drive as quietly as the engine allowed. He'd been gone too long for his liking – the slim pickings at the bar slowing him down, as did his guilt into staying a little longer by her side. The heavy rain was soaking everything adding to his unease. A vampire's sense of smell was second to none picking up as they could, prey across a whole town. Like with cell phones, rain played havoc with his nose's reception. Dean only realised how bad it was at the end of the girl's road, when the downpour already managed to cloud her scent.

With this new evil after them, it was not a good evening to be separated from Sam.

A few hours later both in the Impala, the boys had moved on. In all that time the rain had not ceased its relentless thunder on the car's roof. It was coming up for 8 am, the time Sam usually took over as driver and Dean retreated to the back seat under a thick blanket. The rain however, while regrettably dampening Dean's sense of smell (along with everything else), had also given decent cloud cover. He may well be lucky enough to keep behind the wheels of his beloved baby for the whole day. Dean figured it would be all well and good if he could as Sam was in no condition to drive. His brother was a sorry mess of a twenty-something. Too many nights with no sleep were making him look older than his years. Sam lay slouched in shot-gun, his clothing rumpled, covered in books and papers that in studying, he'd passed out over.

At a corner, Dean reached over and steadied one of the folders on his brother's knee before it fell and released it's gory contents on the floor. He held it balanced, easily holding the wheel with the other hand but unfortunately not having the extra mobility to move it from it precarious position. Sam muttered something, his eyes moving from beneath bruised lids causing Dean to still. He drove with this dilemma for a little while until another bend in the road required him to make a decision, and with one shove, the folder slipped into a safer position on Sam's lap. His passenger snorted and woke with a jump. Dean clicked his teeth, annoyed that in aiming to stop the folder from waking Sam, he'd achieved it instead.

"I fell asleep?"

"Only for a few. You should go back."

"Nope." The younger man cleared his throat and opened up the file of photographs.

"It's not going to change anything keep looking at those."

"No,' Sam agreed, 'but it makes me feel better."

"Howzat?"

"I don't wanna forget a single face."

Dean nodded in regretful understanding. It didn't mean that he agreed. He figured, life was for the living (or un-dead in his personal case). Not for remembering the dead. Well, not for remembering strangers anyhow. He'd seen to many mangled corpses to want to keep thinking about them.  
To distract them both he turned on the tape player, filling the car with Echo and the Bunnymen. It was unfortunate that he'd paused it last time at Killing Moon. He pulled a face and scrambled for the crappy card box which held his prize tapes.  
"Leave it Dean. A song ain't gonna change anything." The elder brother pulled his hand back to the wheel.

The heavy guitar beat a fateful tune with nature's drumming on the roof.

* * *

"Bobby, give me something here man – I mean what the fuck?' the young man scrunched his face up and pressed the phone to his forehead, then brought it back to his moth and ear, 'Is that it? Dammit... so you think the binding is a sort spell to make him do what it wants... binding Sam to it? Is that what the fucking freaky human hair doll thing was?... It's keeping tabs on him?... Huh? This thing didn't have much trouble keeping on our tale before and we're pretty damn good at covering our tracks... So this is how it's been keeping tabs on him?... Yes! I've used the fucking stuff every evening to mask his smell! Every time we leave a room, we run – they smell like someone went to down on the chilli and started bottling human gas. The thing keeps finding us... no we haven't found any more bodies either – Sam's steering clear of everyone, washing his hands by the second. He can feel it you know. I can too, it's there... lingering... I keep getting the taste of it, smelling it, so close... even through the incense, but when I go to track it. I swear the thing is like fucking smoke in my hand.' Dean snorted, 'Yeah, yup... I know – I'm a regular frggin' poet. Okay... of course. So, do you have a cleansing spell for this thing, you know torch the doll...' a loud 'No!' came through the phone, 'Okay no burning the doll. So what do we do? If we can't get rid of it like that...' he gave a frustrated sigh, 'I'll have to tell him. He needs to know. I wish to God he didn't, but he does." Dean listened to Bobby for a little longer and nodded, annoyance twisting his features. He sniffed as he listened: he could smell Sam approaching. 'I've been fine, really. I wish you'd stop asking me that. Yes, I read your little note along with my 'gift'. It's too dangerous Bobby...' a key turned in the lock, 'look he's here – I gotta go."

Sam entered through the door, bringing the scent of hot coffee with him.

"Dean – that Bobby?"

Dean nodded. Sam handed him the scalding coffee. God how he missed 'real' food.

Sam raised his eyebrows, "And? You gonna give me any more?"

"This is good coffee"

"Oh Dean, come on... has he any ideas about the protection spells?"

"The protection spells no – he's no clue why something hunting you would also need to lay protective mojo on you." Dean fingered his bag, and got up to pack; ramming shirts and socks in with even less care than usual. Weapons, he stowed like they were jewels, clothes he just rammed away.

"But the binding spells? Something about that?"

"How'da know it was a binding spell?"

"Guess – I'm right?"

"Yeah, but you're not gonna like it." Sam sank on to his single, then sat up looking expectant.

"Basically it's made you its bitch."

"As if I didn't have enough of that with you!"

Dean snorted, the memory surfacing. "You're taking this pretty calmly."

"I'd pretty much figured it out anyway.' he leaned back onto the bed, swinging legs up and around. 'I've also got a theory about the protection spells... but this time – you ain't going to like it."

Dean gestured with the shirt he was rolling up, signalling Sam to go on. "I think the spells are to... keep me safe... safe from you." Dean gave Sam a long assessing look.

"Son of a bitch."

* * *

The thing crawled across the soaked floor in a primeval rocking motion, the layers of its wet skin seeming to slip and morph as it moved. It dug bony fingers into the caked floor, dragging its body towards the wall where it gained purchase. Wheezing a laugh before giving a full throated bellow, it lurched up with an initial flurry and then inched up the handholds, slowly, but gaining in strength. Standing, it began to take on a new shape. And, as it wrapped the glamour around it's ancient body, the thing came to a decision.

It was time to stop playing this game.

It was time to end it.

Too long had it lived in the darkness. It knew what the ultimate high was. It knew how to score it. Stretching up from the floor, it stood on steady legs and opened dark eyes.

It dreamed in colours of greys and reds - flickering images that flashed by too quickly to retain anything but the lasting impression of a terrible glory.

It knew.

The boy was a tainted soul with the power of eternity in his blood.

Oh, it had the boy's scent.

It could follow him anywhere... would follow. Even though only the boy's brother had been here, it could smell him in this very room. Tip of the tongue fresh. Fear and determination mingled together. Transferred and tantalising.

It had its prey pressed. The pointless things those boys had done to make the chase harder were nothing but a dip in the track. A little exciting distraction until it had its end.

Nothing could stop it now. Not any human. Not any hunter. Not anything supernatural, nor even Sam's hidden strength and power.

Nothing... nothing... nothing.

Nothing, and especially not that poor excuse for a vampire and brother, Dean.

Coming away from its thoughts, the witch walked from the wall, over towards the dead girl. Only the mask of her once pretty face was left after the witch's hunger.

The girl's eye sockets, black and hollow would look forever for her handsome stranger.

The witch wiped down its legs with the brightly coloured shawl the girl had been wrapped in. It then threw it over those gouged out holes.

The thing had wondered, as it devoured those pretty brown balls, if the imprint of the vampire was still on their lenses.

It shrugged a slender brown shoulder, lifted its head and pulled in the fragrant air.

To be continued ...


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N- Okay, so I've been a poor SPN writer for a long time. Are almost four years too late to update? To finish a story? Hell no… it took 22 years for the yellow eyed demon to come for his chosen children, and less than four years for me to finish this son of a bitch. (PS – I realise I may have made a specification error concerning the gears in an Impala, if so please forgive and take it in the essence of drama)._

* * *

Chapter 7 

"Stop the bastard car Dean!" Sam almost shrieked.

Dean ignored him and carried on up the highway, cruising at about twenty over the speed limit. Sam glanced to his side and saw that the lane divide breaks zipped by so fast they'd become one unbroken line, and huffing, he clocked that ahead was just a dazzle of empty road, as if offering them open arms to run faster and further. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere it couldn't find them; it couldn't find him.

In the stereo, the cassette tape rolled around on a slower revolve than the wheels, yet it thumped out music with all the same energy as the engine. It blared out 'Stairway to Heaven'; not a track one should play as a tester in a guitar shop, unless you want to get kicked out – something both Winchesters knew from personal experience; there was only so many times a kid could take up a pic in a music shop and be hit by the 'amateur' look from the assistants when they lashed out bad imitations out Page's licks for the lesson not stick. Sam flicked an annoyed glance at the tape deck and as he did so, he also reflected that the song's title was not something you wanted ringing in your head as your older, and yet more reckless brother tore up the road as if it were Le Mans.

Dean started to sing in a bad soprano, copying Plant, "And as we wind on down the road…"

Sam set his jaw, nostrils flaring.

"Our shadow's taller than our soul…"

Sam took a deep breath, "Stop the fucking car Dean or I'll open my door and jump out!"

His brother didn't reply, simply drove on for a minute more as if to make a point, and only then screeched the Impala to a halt. Going that fast, it took ten seconds or more for the muscle car to oppose its inbuilt directive to go forward and come to stop. In doing so, the Impala made its passengers aware that it was only stopping under duress and it roared in protest at the manoeuvre.

"Damnit, Dean! Shit!" Sam exclaimed.

The road dust kicked up in the car's wake spiralled in the white light like the portent of a looming spirit. Dean glanced in the rear view mirror noticing this, and thinking at the same time it was as though it had been casted by conjurer into representing the ethereal dance of some demon of the deep. He quashed the ghostly images instantly. He'd got enough real monsters after them without imagining more.

Dean clenched his hands around the wheel.

He was scared. Really scared, and his only way to deal with that was to become pissed off.

Dean released the wheel and slammed both hands against it in temper. He then turned to look at his brother in absolute fury. It was the kind of fury that could only be ignited by siblings – for no other force on this earth could inspire that much love or that much anger. When someone stole your toast at four years old, it was pretty much a given that you would either love or hate them until the drapes of time fell together for all eternity. The Winchesters suffered these extremes of emotion daily, and most especially when drunk.

"What the fuck is your problem? The bad thing is behind us and we want to be nowhere near it!" he yelled at Sam.

His brother pinned him with a less than apologetic glare.

"Nowhere near it?" Sam's voice got higher with each enunciation. Dean wondered if he realised how much like a four year old it made him seem.

"Sorry, I'll rephrase that… _you_ should be nowhere near it."

"Oh for God's sake Dean, don't do the bad ass thing. Why are we running? We can't! It will catch up. It always does. Let's go back. Let us meet this son of a bitch head on."

"Okay… fine. You stay here and I'll go screw that mother fucking son of a witch up!" he paused impressed with his own pun and waiting for the inevitable refusal. He also thought that his family assessment of it sounded like some red-neck hick genealogy. He smirked without humour.

Sam saw the look and warned him "You're not going alone."

Dean hit the gears and then skipped through into highest without slipping through the intervening levels. He'd pummelled gas on at the outset and hit 0 to 60 in one deft press of the pedal. Now he flipped the wheel round into full lock, and the car skidded in a 180 curve faster than he'd ever managed it as a human. Straight, he swan necked the curve and then hit the straight; the Impala levelling in the road dead on at sixty five. Even so, it was not fast enough for the vampire. He narrowed his silvered eyes and slammed it up as fast as it would go.

Sam stood all this with one hand pressed to the glass at his side window. Dean, with an unnaturally swift glance to the side, saw how the heat of his brother's body had warmed an imprint pattern into the glass. His own undead blood knew the heat came from the alive blood pumping through Sam's veins, and his fangs dropped at how that might feel to taste. His mouth filled with saliva. He flicked his eyes across again and checked out Sam's reddening, annoyed face. His fangs retracted faster than they'd dropped. Guilt plummeted his stomach. Damn him forever to hell, he knew how that blood tasted, which is conveniently where he was going if fate saw fit.

"So, I take it by the turnaround, it means you're listening to me?" Sam asked. His voice had dropped in pitch and sounded matter of fact and assured. Nevertheless, Dean knew his brother better than to miss read and not see the tentativeness in his manner.

Dean grinned, showing him his best side. Sam relaxed at his smile, then looked further and tensed up upon truly reading his brother's smirk. It was tit for tat in who knew the other better. Sam began to raise a defensive arm but not fast enough. He was never fast enough these days. Dean slammed a firm but controlled fist into Sam's temple and knocked him out cold. Sam's eyelids rolled up and he slid down the passenger seat like heated butter milk in the sun.

"No bro. You're going to be dropped off before hand and then I'm going to meet this shit heel head on."

* * *

Dean drove up to the room number etched on the key and skimmed into the allocated parking space outside. There, he switched off the ignition and sat back. He rubbed his face a moment and then took a calming breath. He didn't need it to live, but he used the familiarity of the gesture to help him gain some clarity.

He knew what he had to do and what the cost of that decision might be.

He ran through the plan in his head to get it right: dump Sam here, cover him with every protection spell in the universe (the ones he could remember that is), tie him up (so he stayed put) and then go. It wasn't the best plan. It was possibly the most stupidest plan he'd ever come up with – and that was saying something. It was also probably not going to work, but Dean knew two things for sure: he was out of options and out of time. This thing was catching up and fast. Its kills were getting closer and closer to them. Bobby had called as he'd paid for their room for the night and the old hunter had asked him if he'd been with a girl the night before. At her description, the woman with the shawl's blood threatened to be ejected all over the Visitor's book in the lobby.

Dean swore under his breath.

In his gut he just sensed that this thing wasn't playing anymore. It wanted his brother, for whatever insidious desires it had, and it was coming for him now. This night. The dead woman had been a warning to Dean that not even his vampire strength was enough to keep it from what it wanted.

He checked the time.

Midnight.

_Well, it's the last message you're gonna leave sweetheart_ – he thought.

Dean glanced at Sam where he slumped in the passenger seat, snoring softly and with a rapidly darkening bruise on his temple.

It may want his brother, but to do so, it was going to have to go through Dean first.

He exited the car and came round to deal with Sam.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The witch amused herself by driving the car she found outside the woman's house instead of running through the moonlight as a shade. It was play acting for it to do human things. An act she or rather it, found it was getting rather good at again. It had to keep up with the times, which was getting harder and harder to do in this day and age, it self-pityingly surmised as it examined its newly scarlet coated nails. Oddly though, it found it often enjoyed some of the acts, like bathing in hot water (but never more than blood) as opposed to the frozen streams of its youth; it liked dressing, selecting bright clothes that suited the contours of each body it chose, and eating. Oh but it enjoyed eating. The witch licked its lips. The human way of making food was delicious - the skilful and complicated meals were a delight. Well, it enjoyed them when in human form as though it was some kind of mental link to the skin it wore in its own human past. The creature was so old now that it no longer really remembered being human, or even what sex it had once been, though something at times told it that it might have been female for it seemed to wear that shape well. There was something just so familiar about the curved lines and the swaying walk that seemed to feel right to it.

Being female also had its other advantages; people were more likely to invite you in.

The witch drove fast and carefree, enjoying the night. There was no road incident that could surprise it without it having time to react. The witch was not quite psychic, but it could _see_ a little of the events ahead.

It smiled stolen lips up into a bow shape, a smile which stretched up into the dead eyes it wore, the ones consumed from the dead woman.

Forewarning was a useful trick, but on occasion it made life boring. That's one of the things that made the Winchester boy so tempting. The witch could not see clearly ahead where he was concerned and it made him a delight to hunt. Around both him and his dead brother, the swirling hands of fate shifted and burnt like a bonfire and it knew that any number of supernatural things had already tried to guess what would be left after that fire burnt out.

The witch snorted.

It had no wish to wait for the ashes; it wanted to take the fire now while it was still at its brightest, at its tastiest - at its most powerful.

It wanted to absorb all that power, every last drop. Then would it be a force to be reckoned with. Then and only then could it get its revenge on the one it ran from, the one who'd tricked it all those years ago.

The car passed a crossroads and the scent seemed to waiver but carried on. The witch was in no hurry, so stayed straight. However, miles down the road, the trail ended with a black marked wheel skid across the lanes.

_Naughty vampire_ – the witch tisked.

Anyone watching would see a pretty young woman turn her car in the road, looking faintly annoyed as if she'd left her purse at home. No one would realise that a monster shifted gear before them, one who obeyed the rules of the road, by checking in her rear view mirror and then followed the speed limit after she'd turned around.

Back at the cross roads, she caught the stronger scent and smiled. There she stopped the car dead centre in the turn and switched it off. Leisurely, she checked her appearance in the mirror and then closed her eyes. Deep inside itself, it took the scent and traced it with its mind. It followed it and could tell that the prey was still and not moving. It smiled and sent:

"_Sam… Sam… dear one. Stay where you are. I'm coming."_

* * *

Hours later Sam woke up slowly. The first thing he noticed was that he was tied up, which while not unusual, it was concerning. The second thing was that he'd woken up not where he'd fallen asleep – also not unusual, this had happened on too many occasions now for it even to stay within his mind for more than one split, orientating second. The third thing he noticed was that someone was standing over him – again not weird, considering Dean was such a night owl (as it were) but this person didn't quite feel right.

Sam blinked to clear his blurry vision.

"Dean?" he queried in a dry voice.

The person came closer and curled over him.

"Hey, space man," he bitched in his best little brother tone.

The person hissed in reply.

_Okay, scratch that_, he realised with dawning horror, it wasn't 'someone' but 'something' standing over him.

Sam twisted as far as he could tied up, and reached for the knife he knew Dean would've stashed under his pillow. It wasn't there.

Teeth latched onto the sinewy skin of his arm and bit down hard.

He screamed.


End file.
